Who Guards the Guardians
by hightoppsmadness
Summary: Rorschach's journal, 1987- my daughter is alive, and she has to know the truth. She has her mother's journal, and I shall have Daniel give her mine. She can put the pieces together. After all, her mother was a mask. Before I made her quit. Rated M.
1. Teaser

Who Guards the Guardians?

A HightoppsMadness Fanfiction

Author's Note: All characters not owned by HightoppsMadness are the sole property of Alan Moore and whichever heavenly comic conglomerate that owns it (I think it's DC, but I might be wrong). The events that follow are fictional and should not be attempted in real life. Also, do not expect me to update quickly; I am focusing on m Alice in Wonderland story first and foremost. Do not accuse the of being 'mary sues' as they have some serious flaws. Seriously, they need a shrink.

.U.

Dr. Manhattan pondered as he watched over his red planet. He had covered up one of the biggest lies in history. He had taken the blame for a worldwide attack on the earth. Indirectly, he had helped Ozymandias create the attack, anyway. But his comrade, his... friend, Rorschach. He hadn't taken a liking for the secrecy. He asked Manhattan to kill him. The physicist had done so without hesitation. But in his eyes, as his ally's bloody pulp of remains spilled upon the snow in a pattern so much like the mask he had worn every day, Manhattan saw the stream of time his actions had caused.

Manhattan saw time differently than the way other beings did. He saw time simultaneously; past, present, and future, helping him to know what will he do, what he had already done, and what he was doing at the moment. But Rorschach's beloved fedora fluttered towards his splattered blood, he saw something he had honestly never expected. And he wished he had hesitated to kill his friend.

.U.

Author's second note: nice teaser, eh? No, this isn't the full first chapter. Just the teaser to get some attention towards it. I'm gonna wait until I have ten solid reviews on this before I put up the full one. So don't hesitate to post your opinion of this piece on here! Rorschach FOREVER!


	2. Give this to the Kid, will you?

Who Guards the Guardians?

A HightoppsMadness Fanfiction

Author's Note: All characters not owned by HightoppsMadness are the sole property of Alan Moore and whichever heavenly comic conglomerate that owns it (I think it's DC, but I might be wrong). The events that follow are fictional and should not be attempted in real life. Also, do not expect me to update quickly; I am focusing on my Alice in Wonderland story first and foremost. Do not accuse the of being 'mary sues' as they have some serious flaws. Seriously, they need a shrink.

.U.

Dr. Manhattan pondered as he watched over his red planet. He had covered up one of the biggest lies in history. He had taken the blame for a worldwide attack on the earth. Indirectly, he had helped Ozymandias create the attack, anyway. But his comrade, his... friend, Rorschach. He hadn't taken a liking for the secrecy. He asked Manhattan to kill him. The physicist had done so without hesitation. But in his eyes, as his ally's bloody pulp of remains spilled upon the snow in a pattern so much like the mask he had worn every day, Manhattan saw the stream of time his actions had caused.

Manhattan saw time differently than the way other beings did. He saw time simultaneously; past, present, and future, helping him to know what will he do, what he had already done, and what he was doing at the moment. But Rorschach's beloved fedora fluttered towards his splattered blood, he saw something he had honestly never expected. And he wished he had hesitated to kill his friend.

.U.

The city was crowded as always. That never surprised the vigilantes. But tonight, Niteowl and Silk Spectre were at a loss for the one person they saw. Amongst the filth of the society in which they lived in, was an old friend. His fedora was perched on his masked head perfectly, his trench coat covered in the dust of his travels.

"Rorschach," the avian based hero gaped. "But... you're dead. I saw you explode."

"Did you know," Rorschach's voice was gravely, "that if you put a person's remains in that machine Manhattan made, it can reassemble the pieces?"

The two heroes were dumbstruck. Rorschach held out a leather journal. "Give this to the kid when she shows up, will you?"

He walked away, but before Niteowl could call him back, he was gone. Niteowl looked at the journal. There was nothing remarkable about it, just a leather bound journal. The years printed on it were 1965-1966. It was twenty one years old.

"The kid...?"

.T.

Connie laced up her high-tops, keeping an eye on the clock. She was late, and knew if she didn't hurry, she wouldn't be there to clean up the streets as well as she could. Connie blew out a sigh, and touched her birthmark lightly, as a good luck ritual. The shape of a butterfly, like an inkblot upon her skin. Her mother had told her it was a clue to her father a couple of days before she had died. That was five years ago, when she was twelve. Her red hair was already a clue, but she had a few men she matched up to the time frame. Of course, her mother hadn't slept with all of them, but she knew them all at that point. At the top of that list was Walter Kovacs, though she couldn't place his significance to her mother, she knew he was important somehow. He was dead, a token funeral held two years ago, along with half of New York City. There was nothing left to bury. She was there, as the only witness. Who else would care about a homeless man?

By that time, she had already started her duties as a Watchman, though not an official one. With the thought of her idol, Rorschach, in mind, she donned his fedora and trench coat combo and decided to try to help keep the filth clean as she could.

But now, she had an owl to get information from. She knew her father had died the day of the Manhattan attacks, but he didn't die in New York. What had happened to him?

.U.

_Rorschach's journal. November 23, 1987._

_I left the truth with Daniel. It has been fifteen years since I had seen her, but it's too painful to tell her why I wasn't there for her. Why I left her with her mother and became myself. Why I love her so much. Why I had stayed far away from her and her mother. God, she looks so much like her mother._


	3. February 15, 1965

.U.

Rain started to caress the city in a fine mist, the way one does a lover in the late hours of the night. Niteowl was on patrol when he saw her. The resemblance was uncanny.

A young girl stood at a tall five foot five with flaming red hair curling out from under her crumpled fedora and over the collar of her trench coat. Bright white high-tops and feminine charm were all the difference between Rorschach and his child. When he had said 'the kid,' he had meant it. She couldn't have been any older than eighteen.

Big blue eyes stared up at the floating contraption that was Archie, and a smile crossed her face for only a moment. The hatch opened, and Niteowl leapt to the ground. Her smile disappeared, but he knew it had been there.

"An old friend told me to give you this," he handed her the journal, and her eyes brightened, though they still seemed sad.

"Thank you, Mr. Niteowl," she murmured, her voice cautious and smooth, like a pool of water just before a drop dispersed its ripples, destroying the surface.

Daniel glanced at the girl, and noticed the rain was starting to come down harder. "Um, would you... would you like to come into Archie? It's warm and dry in there."

Her started expression was that of someone who was just asked to hug their favorite celebrity. "I can go in there?"

"Yeah, sure." Daniel shrugged, and the girl smiled, revealing perfect teeth.

"Thank you so much!" she extended her hand towards him. "I'm Ink-Song by the way."

"Niteowl." he returned, shaking her hand. He lead her into the flying machine. "How old are you anyway?"

"I'm seventeen," she replied, plopping into a seat in Archimedes. Niteowl couldn't help but notice it was the seat that Rorschach always sat in. "Do you mind if I start reading this? I'm trying to gather information about my roots. Rorschach is my idol."

It surprised Daniel that Rorschach never told his daughter that he was a vigilante, but not terribly so. Walter never did talk that much. "Go ahead. I'm gonna run a few errands while we're out, so stay in here, okay?"

"Mmhmm."

.U.

_Rorschach's journal. February 15, 1965._

_I've been at this for a little less than a year now, and I've learned a few things in that time. Never trust bystanders. They either get in the way, or they'll attack you themselves. Today was a perfect example. Saw a woman, humming to herself on the street. It was late, too late for women to be walking alone. A group of thugs started following her, and I observed closely. She turned into the ally, swishing her hips like a prostitute. The thugs sped up and dashed into the ally. Then I heard screams, but not those of a woman. One of the thugs ran back out, but a dagger launched from the ally into the back of his knee. He went down quickly, and I felt no pity for him as the woman walked out of the ally. _

_It was then that I realized what she was wearing. It was not the clothes of a whore, but durable, well fitting clothing, designed for rough movement. She was a mask. Her voice reached up to me, and I caught little words of the song she sang. It was 'I got you babe'. No accounting towards taste, she was odd. As she ripped the dagger from his leg, she broke the other one, then kicked him into the road. She took a tube of lipstick from her pocket and proceeded to write 'rapist and mugger' upon his skin, a brand of his crimes._

_She looked up at me and gave me a smile and a wave to come down. I refused and left. I had seen enough. I'm sure I'll see her again sometime if she's serious about this crime fighting business, though I doubt she is. She's too... cheerful. __Beautiful, even. I regret refusing, but it was necessary. _

.M.

Rorschach was tired when he wrote that night. It was barely a year into his title of Rorschach, and he was already becoming such a cynic. Then again, he never was that cheerful. He tried to get a few winks of sleep in, but thoughts of the woman he had seen plagued his mind. The way her dark hair slipped though the air, following her movements as smoothly as his eyes had. Her smile, a flash of white in the dark, had been free of any lipstick, though she carried it on her person. He wasn't able to see the rest of her features clearly, but he wished he had.

He shuffled off to work in the morning of February 16, 1965. He was Walter Kovacs once again. The taste of mint toothpaste was bitter on his tongue as he stepped into his place at Mr. Greer's dress shop. He hated his job with a passion, but it was work, so he did it. The place was a shit hole, what with it's terrible location, it's faulty lighting, the stained carpeting. And yet, several women came in every day to get a dress fitted or purchased. Today was no different.

Walter had sent a young woman on her way with her mother with a promise to have the polka dot dress done by that weekend. He honestly wondered why she had picked the pattern for that fabric. The colors were disgusting, and they didn't work well for the pattern. But what should he care? He got paid either way, and he didn't care about dress making anyway.

A young woman entered the shop, making the bell ring with a broken tone. Mr. Greer eyed her and Walter sneered as his boss ran his eyes up her body in a hungry way. He looked at the woman calmly, and had to admit she was beautiful. Her flowing dark hair flowed behind her lightly, touching the small of her back. Her long legs were not on show, but in a pair of grey slacks. Her button up shirt was closed, a purple tie covering the buttons.

She approached him before even seeing the owner. Her smile was free of lipstick or any other kind of lip wear. Freckles dusted the bridge of her nose.

"Hello," she said, her voice soft. The speakers on the ceiling played The Beatles, and in the moment of silence, the word 'help' rang out. "I'm Jamie Cooper. Do you have time to get me fitted for something?"

Walter nodded. He wished he was more communicative, but she smiled all the same, her hazel eyes crinkling in her earnest feelings. He pulled the measuring tape from around his neck and gestured towards the carpeted podium. "Right this way."his voice was rough from disuse and his work at night as Rorschach.

Jamie's steps were light as she made her way to the exact spot Walter had pointed out. Mr. Greer stood nearby, leering at the poor woman. At first glance, Walter would have written her off as a whore, but he had taken a closer look at her, and saw that she was a good woman. He had gotten the tape around her bust, but it slipped, and he had to measure it again. He made sure it was around the widest part of the bust to make it fit, and took note. 34 inches. He slid the tape down to her waist, and she giggled. He looked up at her in surprise, and she smiled down at him.

"That tickles," she explained, and looked up, catching Mr. Greer's eye. Walter noticed that she had become uncomfortable under Greer's stare, and knew that the older man was a dirty pervert. He hated Mr. Greer with such an intensity, he felt sorry for Jamie.

'_She's still a whore,' _murmured a rough voice in his head. Walter almost dropped the tape, he was so frightened. He had never heard that voice before, and it was as if it spoke right next to his ear. He played it off as nerves and took the measurement of her hips. 40 inches. They were wide, but not squishy. They were just wide for the genetic purpose of procreation. He really didn't care that much, but his mind kept coming up with excuses for her measurements.

"Which fabric would you like for your dress?" Mr. Greer stepped in as Walter wrote down his numbers.

"I was thinking a nice black and white dress would be nice. Satin, if you have it." Jamie rummaged into her pocket, pulling out a drawing on a napkin. "Like this." She handed it to Walter.

He was amazed at how detailed it was. Specific instructions on assembly were written on the napkin, outlining the drawing of the dress. It was symmetrical, like Rorschach's mask, only in satin, stationary in design. It was similar to the polka dot dress in shape, though, reaching mid-thigh and ending in a ruffle that traced the bottom, as well as highlighting the cleavage.

'_I told you she was still a whore,'_ the voice hissed in his ear, and Walter almost swatted the voice away.

"May I ask the occasion?" he got the courage to ask.

"It's for my twin sister. We have the same measurements, and she didn't want people touching her to get them. She wanted a party dress, and she had me design it for her. She wants me to have a matching one, but honestly, I find it distasteful. Too short, too much skin. Not my scene, you know?"

Walter nodded, relieved. He mentally told that voice that it could shut up, that it was wrong about her. She was lovely. Walter wondered why he actually liked her. She was so... cheerful.

"When can I expect it?" Jamie twirled a lock of hair around her finger.

"Next week," Walter croaked, suddenly very thirsty. Why was it so hot?

"Great! I'll see you then," she smiled as she left the shop, as beautiful as when she had entered.

"What the hell was that?" Mr. Greer growled. The song on the speakers changed to the Pointer Sisters, and Walter looked back down at the napkin in his hand. On the corner, she had signed her name. She had dotted the 'I' with a music note.


	4. February 16, 1965

.Ŧ.

Connie turned the page of the journal as Niteowl flew Archie high above the city, wondering if he ever found out who the woman in the alley was. She wondered why he had bothered to scratch out 'beautiful'. It wasn't as if someone would care, even if they had gotten their hands on the journal. The next page was important to her.

.U.

_Rorschach's journal. February 16, 1965._

_Tonight, I met my fellow crime fighters. The comedian was intoxicated, and proceeded to burn a map of the U.S. with his lighter. Niteowl had said something about no more drinking at meetings. Niteowl is the closest thing to a partner I think I'll ever have. We agreed to meet up with each other next week to start acclimating each other to our respective styles of justice. I have decided that the second Silk Spectre is no better than the first. She went off with Dr. Manhattan to sully their souls with soft kisses in the night. His girlfriend was there, too. I wonder idly how she will react to his infidelities. It makes me shudder to know that even among our ranks, there are still sins upon us. _

_Ozymandias gave a speech outlining our work. He driveled on for what seemed like forever. The man needs to put his priorities in order. We are not here for glory, or even for a perfect world. We are here to be the ones to put the corrupt and the dirty in their places. To give a different perspective on the city. _

_There was someone else at the meeting, as well. She was the woman I had found yesterday. She was in different clothing today. It was a black suit, with a zipper up the front. I believe it was leather, but it was adorned with thick kevlar. Her boots were sturdy, perfect for quick movements. Her mask was red, and her face was scrubbed clean, with no traces of makeup. She smiled at me once more, and I actually felt the urge to smile back at her, even if she couldn't see it. I resisted. She was probably a loose woman, with her hazel eyes and long dark hair. She said her name was Muse, but I could care less. She said she wanted to work with me soon. _

_I told her it wasn't likely, but I know that it is. There is something about her that makes me think. She reminds me of the woman I met at work this morning, Jamie Cooper. Perhaps I'm wrong about Muse. Maybe she is a good woman. I'll have to do some research on this. _

.M.

Rorschach trudged into bed that night, silently calculating. There had been a two percent decrease in crime since last week. However, more than thirty percent of this crime had been rape.

'_Rape on prostitutes. It was basically doing overtime with no pay,'_ the cynical voice whispered.

"Shut up," Walter tore off his mask. "Most of those women were good women. Weren't they? I remember a couple of them had kids with them that they were protecting."

'_Just because one is a mother does not mean one is a saint. Don't forget that, Walter. You remember mother, right?'_

"How could I forget?" Walter cried out as he sank onto his bed, distraught. He remembered how his mother would use their home as her 'office.' She would scream at him when he accidentally found her at her job. 'I should have gotten that abortion!' rang through his mind again. It had been years since the broad died. Did he even care? Not particularly.

He struggled through sleep, dreaming of his mother teaching Muse the ways of loose women, and Muse stupidly following orders. Images of hazel eyes crying as she was raped repeatedly, with money thrown at her on her client's way out. Her dark hair trailing down her bare body–

Walter didn't sleep much after he woke from his nightmare. He didn't want to think about her in that way. He didn't want to think of any woman in that way.


	5. February 19 to 28, 1965

.T.

Connie closed the leather bound journal and pulled another from her pocket. It was white with a hard cover, the name Jamie scrawled across the top. On the inside cover, written in her mother's slanted writing, were the years 1965-66. The first page spanned the first entry, February 16, 1965.

_Dear Journal,_

_I met someone today. His name was Walter. He is a quiet tailor for Mr. Greer's dress shop. I think he might dislike women, but I have a theory about that. It could be because he has to deal with them all day, and women by nature are mean. Last night, I was Muse for the first time. I forgot my costume, of all the stupid things I could have done. I also got to see another crime fighter watching me work. He was... not antisocial, just not participating in the activity, I guess. He had on a trench coat and a fedora. I waved at him to talk to him, but he just left. Just as well, as I wasn't looking very good. Forgot my chapstick. And my mask. But that's okay. All the people who I fought are dead. By accident, except for that last one. He had it coming. I sang a song for their tortured souls, but I doubt that will make up for anything. I met the Crime busters tonight. Rorschach is an interesting person. He seems to dislike everyone but me and Niteowl, but it seems more like toleration than actual camaraderie. Oh, well. Better than distaste._

The second half of the page was made for the next entry, and Connie read on. She had kept the journal for years now, but had resisted reading it until now, and she was hungry for information. Niteowl had landed the floating contraption to take care of a couple of muggers, but she was too interested in the wave of information flooding her senses.

_February 19, 1965._

_I saw Rorschach again. He seems to be following me, making sure I'm not screwing up. That's alright. I don't mind at all. In fact, it's reassuring. It means he cares. _

_I also saw Walter again today, at the bakery were I work. He ordered a Cherry cupcake. I added extra frosting to his. After all, he seems like a good person, and I had extra. No reason to let it go to waste. He's kind of cute, too. I wonder what makes him so withdrawn from other people. A lady came to sit at his table. She had on a lot of makeup, and smacked her gum loudly. Her skirt rode up, and I saw she had on a purple G-string. Some ladies just don't have any pride in themselves, honestly. He told her something quietly, and she slapped him and walked out of the store, leaving her cinnamon roll behind. He threw it away. I asked him what he said, and he told me 'I said for her to leave, because whores shouldn't make such a lovely place dirty. Not when you're here.' I think that was a complement, so that's what I took it as, but I honestly don't know what to make of that._

The next page was about a week later, dating February 28, 1965. Her mother's scrawling handwriting was accompanied by a photograph wedged between the yellowing pages. On the back, Rorschach's symbol was drawn in the lower left hand corner. The front was of Muse and Rorschach. Her mother's smile was bright and genuine, though Connie couldn't tell if Rorschach was smiling or not. The inkblots that made his mask so terrifying were frozen into the image of dueling dragonflies, in Connie's perspective. His fedora was firmly upon his head, but his cream scarf was untucked, fluttering in the invisible breeze. Muse's arm was locked with his.

_February 28, 1965._

_Dear Journal,_

_Walter gave me my dress and my sister's to give to her. They were beautiful, even though he admitted to missing a few stitches. It doesn't matter. He put hard work into them, and it shows. I gave him exact change, and a phone number to contact me further 'if he has an idea for a good dress.' Like he believed that! God, I feel so stupid! He probably thinks I do that for every handsome man I meet!_

_Oh well, onto my duties as Muse. I ran into Silk Spectre II. She's alright, but she wouldn't shut up about Dr. Manhattan. Someone needs to accept that she's jailbait for now and wait a couple years. We took care of some muggers, but then Ozymandias showed up. Wow, what a total tool! He keeps insisting that we all get partners, and he tries buddying up to me. It's not going to happen! He gave me his number, too. I'm only keeping it in case I need to get a hold of some backup. He may be a creep, but any help is good when it's needed._

_I also ran into Rorschach again. He was tying up a drug dealer to a lightpole. I swear, I could almost swear I saw him smile when we (Silk Spectre and I) came up to him. He even let us take a picture of him! I think I'll keep it forever, as a commemoration of our budding friendship. He's a really nice guy when you get past the rough exterior. And the incomplete sentences. I swear, he never uses prepositions! But I still like him. He's a good person. I noticed he also wears the same cologne as Walter. I wonder where he gets it from? _

Connie flipped through Rorschach's journal. Unlike her mother, he documented every day without fail. At the page for February 28, he had actually drawn something. It was a rough sketch of her mother smiling as she handed the slip of paper with her number on it to the person viewing the drawing. The light of her eyes were perfect, and every line of her hair was tucked into place. Her lips were clean and in soft light. Rorschach had taken a long time to draw this.

_Rorschach's journal. February 28, 1965._

_While I was at work, Ms. Cooper picked up the dresses I made for her and her sister. She gave me her number, suggesting that I call her if I have any ideas for a good dress. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I'm a terrible designer, but I did admit I missed a few stitches on the dresses. She told me she didn't care, that they looked great anyway. It made me feel something other than apathy. This woman is truly a force to admire. I doubt she was flirting with me. I'm not that attractive, to be honest. I drew her anyway, because I never want to forget what she looked like when she smiled at me._

_My night was uneventful until the end. I broke an informant's arm to tell me where a small time drug dealer was. I was trying to tie said drug dealer to a lightpole when Silk Spectre and Muse had found me. I smiled when I saw Muse. She reminds me of Ms. Cooper, though I doubt there is a connection. Perhaps it is her sister? I must investigate this further at a later time. I took a picture with Muse, and I hope she keeps it. She seems like someone who wants to make the world a better place, and I want her to remember she always has me here to help her. I really hope she didn't smell my cologne. It's uncommon enough to pin me to Walter Kovacs easily. Hopefully she hasn't gotten a dress at Mr. Greer's before now._

Connie dropped the book. All this time, she had suspected as much, but this... an indirect confession as to who Rorschach is!

"Everything all right back there?" Niteowl was pulling into the garage when he looked back and found her hyperventilating. "Jesus! What's wrong?" He pulled her to him, trying to regulate her breathing.

"Rorschach..." Connie wheezed like a dying woman. "He's... Walter... I knew him. Walter Kovacs... Rorschach... I knew him."


	6. March 1 to 25, 1965

"It's going to be alright." Niteowl ripped his goggles off and threw them on the cold floor of Archie. His mask was pulled back to reveal his face. The lines on his skin indicated years of both happiness and pain. "Just try to breathe."

Connie's breathing started to slow and even out, but she still took gulps of air like she was drowning. Eventually, the panic ebbed out of her system, and she slumped down to join the discarded goggles.

"I need to read these, Niteowl." she gathered up the journals like birds with broken wings. "They teach me about my... about Rorschach. I have to know this."

"Do you want to read up in my house? I'll get you some dinner." Niteowl's fatherly kindness began to take over. This was Rorscach's child. He couldn't let her take on his antisocial tendencies.

"Sure, Mr. Niteowl," her voice was tired and quiet, older than her years.

"Call me Daniel." Niteowl smiled at her.

"Okay," Connie stepped off the flying contraption and walked up the stairs to the landing, then made her way into the house.

.O.

Walter had been confused the next day, on March first, 1965. A woman came in with Jamie. They looked exactly alike, but this woman was decidedly not a good woman.

'_I told you there was a whore involved in this somewhere.' _the cynic voice whispered in his ear. He mentally yelled at it that it could take its comments and shove them up its–

"Hello," the Jamie look-alike placed her hands on the counter. "I'm told you're the one that made my dress."

Walter took stock of her. She looked like a twisted version of Jamie, but that's where the similarities ended. Her face was caked with makeup, with garish purple lipstick adorning her scowl. Her clothes were tight and revealing, consisting of a tight black pencil skirt that was too short, and a purple button up shirt that had the first four buttons undone. Her breasts were obviously altered, as pads were peaking out of her revealed bra. Large purple pearls hung off her ears. Her hair was swept up in curls, but were done hastily, as many straight hairs flew every which-way off of the main group. He decided he liked Jamie much better, what with her conservative sun dress that accentuated her curvature, but still hid her skin from prying eyes.

"Yes, I did." he answered again in a gruff voice.

"You missed some stitches." she didn't ask it as a question. He decided he also didn't like her attitude. She obviously held herself in such high regard that she didn't fell she needed manners.

"I did." he answered again. He looked over at Jamie, who looked horrified with her sister's actions. Her clean scrubbed face held nothing but outrage at her sister. Chapstick adorned her lips, but that was all. The yellow of her dress was soft, like the petals of a sunflower. He looked back at the angry sister. "May I ask who you are?"

"I am Beatrice Cooper. And I am an outraged customer." she answered, her delicate eyebrows furrowed in anger.

"Um, Bea? It's not nice to treat people like that. He told me that he missed a few stitches. It's all right. They still look great. They still fit. Can't you be happy with that?" Jamie's words were a balm to his rising ire.

'_Now is not the time for romance. You don't need that.' _the irritating voice reemerged, and Walter could have punched Beatrice out of pure reaction.

"No! I won't accept such shitty craftsmanship." Beatrice spread her fingers over the counter. Purple nail polish. It didn't really surprise him, really. He found cigarette burns between the joints of her fingers. He had seen burns like that on his mother. Her clients would do that to her to get themselves off. It was disgusting. The pieces clicked, and the annoying voice reared its ugly head once more.

'_I knew that she was a whore. Jamie's sister Beatrice is a whore. Call her on it.' _

"Ma'am, I deal with people every day. Some of them are good people, like your sister. Others are like you. Whores. Smooth talkers. Horrible people that make up the scum of the Earth."

Beatrice was dumbstruck. This man went from a small, freckled red-haired man to a man who just kindly insulted her. Jamie smiled at him from her place behind her sister. She mouthed a 'thank you' to him as her sister stalked out of the shop like the angry prostitute she was.

Walter nodded to her as she left, and he looked at his clenched fists resting on the counter.

'_Good job. Maybe now you won't get as many sluts in here.'_

Walter sighed at the voice in his head. As long as Jamie kept coming back, he really didn't care. He just wanted to see her again.

.O.

Connie pulled out the white diary of her mother again once she sat on Mr. Dreiberg's comfortable couch. Her loopy handwriting was rushed, sloppy. It was difficult to read the words on the page. They were obviously important.

_March 25, 1965._

_I, as Muse, was saved today. I was fulfilling my duties as a Watchman, when a man in a weird costume showed up. I was wary of him, as he was alarming in personality. He was following me, crying out 'punish me, punish me!' Eventually, I grew tired of his pleas, so I acquiesced. This was a mistake on my part. He began to enjoy my fighting, and I noticed he was… well… he was certainly enjoying the experience, let me put it that way._

Connie blushed at the implication, but read on.

_ I started to run away, but he started to chase me, saying that his punishment was not over. I began to panic, something that should never happen. Thank God for Rorschach. We had began to work together as of late, and whenever I need his help, he is always there for me. I do the same for him, but he hardly ever needs me! Anyway, he scared the odd man away, saying that he would tie him to a pole and leave him there for the police. I couldn't believe the man actually bought his bluff, as Rorschach always inflicts some kind of injury to our quarry, but hey, I'm not complaining! I asked him to walk me home, because I was still worried that this man would return for me, and he agreed. He told me that 'creeps like that usually come back multiple times for pretty girls. It's best that I'm there for you.' I found that to be both reassuring and scary._

_ We arrived to my apartment, and I invited him inside. He said no, but he would be sure that I remained safe. I kissed him on the cheek, right on his mask, and went inside. Right before I went to bed, I thought I saw him sitting on my windowsill, but I looked again, and he was gone._

Connie flipped through the leather journal until March 25 came up. She just had to see what her father – er, Rorschach – had written. The steady ink strokes his handwriting made were much neater than her mother's. In fact, her writing was closer to her mother's, but held the same kind of style on her vowels, all capital letters, the only indication of their placement being the literal size of the letter.

_Rorschach's journal. March 25, 1965_.

_It's been about two weeks since Muse and I have started working together, and already she's getting into more trouble than she can handle. She can take down three large men with ease, but a masochistic sexual predator had approached her. Naturally, once she figured this out, she tried to run, and he was in close pursuit. I aided her in getting rid of him, and she asked me to walk her home. This idea was a good one, for creeps like that usually come back to finish what they started, and then kill their victims. I gave her a slightly less terrifying version of that fact, but she agreed all the same. I walked her to her apartment, and she kissed me on the cheek. This is the first time such a display of affection was ever given to me. She offered me to come with her into her home, but I denied the request. There was no reason to make it look like that I was taking advantage of her. _

_ Instead, I made a mental note of which apartment she lived in, and perched myself on her bedroom windowsill. I think she might have seen a glimpse of me, but I dropped fast enough for her to think that I wasn't there. I returned to my place a few minutes later to see her asleep in her bed. Her bedroom window was unlocked. How reckless of her! I slipped inside, just for a moment, to make sure that the other windows were locked. They were not, and I fixed that for her. On my way back to the bedroom window, I was presented with a surprise that I must admit I did not expect at all. In Muse's bed, her body uncovered, was none other than Jamie Cooper! _

_ The connection made so much sense, now that I think about it. There was no way that multiple women look like each other and have the same personality._

_ I am loathe to admit it, but it made me smile to know that I get to see her tomorrow at work. She is coming to ask for a job there as a designer. I get to see her every day, and now, every night as well. I do not know what to do with such information, though. At least I will not have to investigate about her sister being Muse. She works a corner somewhere in this city, in the red light district. I hate her with a passion, to be honest. She is nothing like her sister._


	7. The fearful events of March 26

.O.

March 26 had been an eventful date in Walter's memory. He had seen Jamie once again, and she smiled at him and whisper 'hi' as she went to get a job with Mr. Greer. Walter didn't like the way Mr. Greer looked at Jamie, but what could he do? Looking at a woman wasn't a crime, though the way Greer did should be.

They were in the office for about twenty minutes, the door wide open, and Walter could hear her dodging inappropriate questions while giving her qualifications to Mr. Greer. But the sweaty leach wasn't having any of it. He told her that she wasn't going to get the job, but he would willingly buy any freelanced designs she had.

She stormed out of the office, her flats quietly slapping the splintered hardwood. Walter asked for his lunch hour, and Mr. Greer unhappily let him go. He quickly caught up with Jamie.

"I'm sorry Greer is such a creep." Walter apologized to her, though he wasn't quite sure why he was doing so. Mr. Greer sure as hell wasn't sorry at all.

'_Because you're so weak, you take the blame for others,' _whispered the dark voice in the back of his mind.

"No, it's alright. He knows what he is, and I hope to God I find him in the streets at night. He'll have what's coming to him, the molester." She mumbled, and Walter looked at her with widened eyes. She wasn't even hiding her identity that well! How had he gone so long without knowing she was Muse?

'_Again, because you're weak and unobservant. She's been giving you hints this whole time. She even wears the same chap stick.'_

"Shut up." Walter whispered to himself, to the mean voice.

"I'm sorry, what?" Jamie turned to him.

"Nothing."

"O…kay. Well, I've got to get to the bakery. They said they wanted me in as soon as I was done with my interview. Want a bagel? My treat," she tempted him with pastry, but he was intending on eating lunch there anyway. That bakery made the best cherry cupcakes. They put sugar cubes on top as decoration, and he was beginning to really like them.

That night had been just as eventful. He had taken up patrol with Daniel, or Niteowl. They had taken care of some kids smoking crack in an ally, and were just getting warmed up when they heard the first shot. It was followed by a scream that made Rorschach's blood run cold. It sounded like death. But after that, three gunshots rang out through the sky, a signal to all those within its sound range to stay indoors, lest they become the next victims of the sound. But unlike the other citizens, Daniel and Rorschach ran toward the sounds.

It was only five blocks away, which wasn't that bad, especially at a run, but the sight that greeted them stopped them in their tracks. Muse was unmasked, sprawled on the ground, with four bullet wounds leaking her lifeblood all over the concrete. Her breathing was quick and uneven, like a scared animal's. Her hazel eyes had tears clinging to the long dark lashes that framed them. It was a strange and distressing sight for Daniel, but it was strangely heartbreaking for Rorschach. It was stranger than fiction, what was happening. Jamie, his poor Jamie, was bleeding out from the violence of an assailant. She lifted her head and weakly smiled at Rorschach.

"You should see the other guy. Shot me this many times just to get me away." She joked thinly. He cringed when she coughed up blood as well.

"This is ridiculous, we need to get you to a hospital!" Daniel cried as he hoisted Jamie over his shoulder and hauled her out into the street. Rorschach knew that wouldn't happen. They wouldn't get there before she bled out. But he had the facilities to treat bullet wounds. He used them on himself plenty of times… And his home was nearby…

"Daniel, follow me. We'll treat her." He ran in front of Niteowl, making sure he was behind him every once and a while. The faster they got to his place five blocks away, the better.

It had taken ten minutes to get to his crummy apartment building, and Rorschach was starting to lose what composure he still had.

'_It's just a woman, calm down. If she dies, well, that's her own fault for being stupid. Always be prepared and vigilant, right?' _the cold voice in his head growled. Walter had started to notice that the voice had started showing up more frequently when he had on his face. Sometimes, he would black out, and when he came to, it was morning, and the voice would say 'you're welcome' smugly. That scared him more than anything. He abandoned his train of morbid thought as Daniel carried her inside bridal style.

Walter hurriedly swept off his small kitchen table, old take out boxes and newspapers falling to the floor with a sharp flutter. If Jamie hadn't been bleeding out, he might have considered taking a rag and cleaning off the coffee rings and a stain from the newspaper ink, but that just wasn't going to happen in the current situation.

Daniel placed her carefully on the creaky table, her legs and arms dangling off the sides. She was starting to look a little woozy. He ripped his Niteowl goggles off and pulled his mask back to get a good look at what he was handling while Rorschach fetched his somewhat expansive first aid kit. Walter was thankful he had actually invested a good deal of his first few paychecks for this kit, as it had everything they needed for bullet extraction and suture. He had pulled at least three bullets from himself since he had started the vigilante bit.

"Hey, Rorschach," Jamie smiled at him like a loon as Daniel pulled on the sterile gloves and the washed tweezers.

"Thank God these were slowed down by the Kevlar. It didn't hold up as well as it should have, though." Daniel murmured as he dropped the first bullet into the aluminum bowl. It clinked against the metal surface, and for the first time, Rorschach thought he would be sick from the sound.

"Yeah, he got me point blank." Muse was back in place as she hardened her gaze. "He was selling to kids. I got the kids out of there, and asked who his boss was. We got into fisticuffs, and he pulled a fast one and shot me. Messed up his face though. He's got a broken nose, a black eye, and a good gash across his left forearm." She reported clearly, though it was obvious she was starting to lose consciousness.

"Don't you dare fall asleep," Rorschach warned. The bullet from her arm, and two from her side were out. He was sewing her up as fast as he could, using his dress making skills to his advantage. "Ms. Cooper, you have to stay awake." He looked up at her face to see her eyes starting to glaze over in exhaustion. "Jamie, dammit, stay awake!"

He mentally cursed at himself for both revealing her identity and for shocking Daniel with his outburst. "What are you looking at, Daniel, finish extracting that bullet!"

Daniel nodded quickly and resumed his last task, digging out the last bullet. This one had not hit any veins or organs, but it was going to leave a nasty scar on her breast. He felt awkward having to put hands on her like that to get it out, but he had little choice. At least he was skilled enough to extract all of these without taking off her suit, even though technically he was supposed to.

"Thank you, Daniel. I'll take it from here." Rorschach dismissed him, and Niteowl complied. After he heard the door shut firmly, Walter ripped off his Rorschach mask, revealing his bright red hair and freckles. He needed to see clearly what he was doing for this last one, mainly because the skin shifted easier on a woman's breast, and he wasn't that strong of a tailor to start with.

He would have been more reluctant, but he worried for her safety. Carefully, he pulled down the zipper of her suit and pulled one side of it away from her, revealing a very blood soaked brazier. It was simple in design, and he would have guessed it was blue at one point, because it was a deep purple now. He gingerly cut it off of her using scissors, severing the strap. He could clearly see the bullet hole in the cup of it. Walter put aside his reservations about the female gender and got to work, being ever so gentile with her bloody breast.

'_You should have been more vigilant,'_ whispered the gravelly voice in his head. _'Look.'_

"Walter?" murmured Jamie. She didn't look anywhere near lucid, but she was still able to put a name to the face. "Are you Rorschach?"

Walter finished the last suture and tied off the stitches. After he cut the excess string off, he looked her in the eye. "Yes. I am. And you are Muse."

"Yeah, I guess I am. So we've been partners this whole time, and we didn't know who the other person was?"

"Just go to sleep, Jamie. You need it." He put the supplies away methodically. When he turned his attention back to her, she had passed out, whether from being tired or the blood loss, he didn't know. He carried her to his bed, and he tucked her in tight, knowing if he didn't short sheet the bed, she would roll around until she ripped her stitches. He then camped out on his ratty looking couch. It wasn't comfortable, but she needed a bed more than he did


End file.
